


Breakin

by Roadstergal



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-16
Updated: 2007-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:25:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1626590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roadstergal/pseuds/Roadstergal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A gapfiller for Casino Royale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breakin

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Mountainthyme

 

 

It was, Bond decided, decidedly irritating. He had gone to the trouble of breaking into M's place, after all. That in itself was no mean feat, considering that nobody knew anything about her other than that her name was "M" and that she ruled the organization with an iron fist. Nobody but himself, Bond thought, allowing himself a smirk. He now knew that she lived in a very nice little house in a very nice little part of town with a very nice little business cover. A very nice little house that was full of, he thought as he looked around, very comfortable (if almost accusingly basic) furniture.

Yes, he had gone to the trouble of finding out who M was and where she lived, and she did not have the courtesy to come home at a decent hour and be shocked by all of this. Bond had always suspected M was a workaholic, but he had never really cared before. He had his own hours, and all that mattered was that she was within easy reach when he needed her assistance. However, as he sat around and drummed his fingers on the arm of the dark leather chair, he wondered if it would kill her to come home before midnight. He had been there since half-past-six, and the "Oh, you're home?" act was going to be difficult to keep up at this rate.

He sighed, stood, and stretched, sore muscles groaning at the abrupt motion after the long sit-down. He peeked through the small gap on this side of the curtain, but the view of nighttime London held no interest. No, he should take advantage of his unusual position - being alone in the house of the head of MI-5 was not something that happened every day, after all. Bond knew better than most that knowledge is power, and knowledge of the home was one of the better kinds.

After casting one last glance around the unadorned front room - not so much as a picture graced the mantel - he strode into the bedroom. Thick pile carpet absorbed his footfalls in an eerie manner. A queen-size bed was made tightly enough to bounce a coin of any denomination that struck your fancy off of the dark quilted comforter. Dark wooden night-stands glared sullenly at him from either side of the bed. He tugged at the drawers, which were, unsurprisingly, locked. Instead of taking the time to pick them, he went to the lavatory in search of more low-hanging fruit. Something was tapping at his spine - not the eerie feeling of a gun trained between his shoulder blades, a feeling he was all too familiar with, but an older feeling - knowing that the cop who was staring at the orphan brat he used to be was going to let him get away with stealing that candy bar, but was going to frown disapprovingly at him nonetheless.

Soulless fluorescent bulbs lit a marble countertop and glinted off of steel plumbing as he flipped on the light switch. The prim wire wastebasket stood empty underneath a roll of toilet tissue that looked like it would chastise you severely if you tore off more than one sheet at a time. Bond turned his attention to the mirror-faced medicine cabinet. It was unlocked, and dull. The most garden-variety medications stared back at him - ibuprofen, cold medicine, topical antibiotics and bandages. Some kind of all-natural toothpaste. Floss, waxy and minty. Exfoliant - a brand that was nowhere near as good as his own. He should pass the tip on to M; it would annoy her. Kimono condoms.

Bond frowned slightly. Condoms? He would have thought that the ever-so-practical M would rely on the more efficacious (if taken correctly, and god knows she would) selection of pills available. After all, the woman who resided at this house, according to official records, was married, and the bed was for two, and... come to think of it, where was that husband of hers, if she had one?

Maybe, Bond thought with a quiet snort, she kept him in a bottom drawer, and only pulled him out for official functions. Or to warm the bed at night. Perhaps he was out having an affair with a pretty young administrative assistant - like the assistant Bond had managed to get this information from. Popular opinion would have you believe that women are the masters of seduction and manipulation, but somehow (and Bond never questioned it), when he avoided shaving for a day, and quirked a smile at a woman as he ran his finger gently along her jaw with a purred request, she would fall over herself to do exactly what he asked, her memory of the records he had taken fading to nothing as he pressed a passionate, but close-mouthed, kiss to her lips.

The memory of that assistant's name had faded just as rapidly. Bond pulled the creased bundle of papers from his pocket, looking at the name of the man that M (he could not think of her with any other name) was supposedly married to. Having a part-time husband would fit with M's mode, certainly. She was always far too busy for _people_. Individual people, that is. En masse, they presented her with some useful tools, but he doubted she could be arsed to care about any one person's health and safety.

Certainly not his own. Which is why he would have to look after that himself. He did not mind; he had known, going into this, that he woud never be more to M than a tool. Odd, then, that he never liked to dwell on that thought.

Bond closed the medicine cabinet. For some strange reason, as he walked back into the sparesly furnished front room, his mind would not let go of the thought of the condoms on the shelf. If they were for a wayward husband's use, he would have them on his person, wouldn't he? Bond sat back down again with a sigh, his brain mercilessly conjuring up images of those condoms being used by M herself. It was strange to think of M as a sexual being.

Or was it?

She was potent and powerful, yes, eschewing any silliness, any excess of emotion, any lack of efficiency. Yet she was not unfeminine. On the contrary - she was powerfully feminine, in a way that transcended the weakness that most men considered female. She was a Hera, a Fate. She was.... appealing, in a rather frightening way.

Bond shook his head and reached for the computer again. A waste of time. She might have planted them there just to make the mind of any potential intruder wander along confused paths to distract them from their purpose. It was an amusing thought, and just ithe kind of thought that the overly-suspicious, overly-plotting, overly-... well, overly-intelligent woman would have. But this - _this_ would be a surprise, and the thought of the astonishment on her face that his appearance would inspire pleased Bond to no end. He chuckled quietly, then swallowed that noise as he heard the tap-tap of a determined set of feet in elegantly functional shoes striding along the hallway. He moved the chair into a shadow, sat in it, faced the door, and steeled himself.

 


End file.
